


Touch of chill

by Splinter



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs, Consensual Possession, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/M, Furiosa is the most eaten out character in fandom history, Ghost Sex, Multi, Porn with Feelings, Post-Movie(s), Wasteland Magic, canon-typical grief, implied past sexual abuse (brief mention)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 18:07:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12538036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splinter/pseuds/Splinter
Summary: Wanting Furiosa is the thing he can hang on to, the place where he and Valkyrie are already closely matched.A Hallowe'en fill for thesmutty_arts prompt challenge- though no art this time, we're working from a prompt list instead. This was for "Max and Furiosa and Ghost Valkyrie"





	Touch of chill

Max had never been so glad to be told that something was flu. Furiosa was recovering from a Buzzard attack when she went down with the bug going round the Citadel. The morning she woke up feverish, his first thought was of infection, of wounds turned septic, of fears he refuses to name. Her sniffles had come as a relief. 

The slash on her thigh is clean, though the sickness is likely to slow her recovery. It’s an effort to get her to eat as much as Mel, the Vuvalini healer, thinks she should. What really bothers them is that she’s been groggy enough to stay in bed, to let herself be fussed over.

Max is still sharing her bed – if he gets her flu, he gets it, it’s too late to worry about that. Between her fevers and his own fears, he sleeps badly. Though it’s a while since his last nightmare, he wakes repeatedly. Even the moonlight, getting brighter as the full moon approaches, has been enough to pull him out of sleep.

This time, it’s Furiosa’s thrashing that disturbs him. She’s fidgety and weary, but agrees to eat some cooked apple, falling asleep again before she gets to the third spoonful. By the time he gets back to bed, Max is thoroughly awake, lying there watching the darkness.

There’s something there. Or someone. 

There can’t be. The door was locked before the light went out, and there’s nowhere to hide in Furiosa’s room, nowhere. He knows that, they’ve both checked often enough. But there it is, a shadow in the dark, a blurred shape the height and size of a person. As he stares, it steps forward, into the patch of moonlight.

It’s a woman in Vuvalini clothes, feathers at her shoulders, dark hair flowing. He knows her at once. 

He recognises her face, her way of holding herself, proud as a winged victory. It must be two years or more since he saw her, since she died. He still thinks in years, sometimes, a before-time habit, though everyone else counts days. The moon keeps him on track, even if the seasons can’t.

She is not one of his accusing dead. There are no wounds, seen or imagined, on her face and body. She’s watching him quietly, rather than shrieking retribution. But she’s dead. He realises, afterwards, that it never occurred to him to think otherwise, to wonder if she’d somehow survived and returned. She’s here, but she’s a ghost.

The air in the room feels icy, making his heart beat faster and his scalp prickle. This isn’t panic or nightmare, just a jangling sense of something other, a creeping of the flesh.

For a haunted man, Max hasn’t seen many spirits. His own ghosts are products of his mind, he thinks, hallucinations. Some operate differently, the way Glory has warned him of things he didn’t or couldn’t know. Even she seems to spring from the black matter of his brain. Just occasionally, he meets with something else. 

He can’t tell, doesn’t know which instincts to trust. This Vuvalini woman might be Valkyrie herself, or a Wasteland vision taking her shape. Vampires, ghouls and the other old-world bogeymen seem ridiculous now, but there are other things waiting in the desert.

“Are you real?” His voice sounds rusty. “Are you her?” It’s a stupid question. He has no idea if ghosts are any more honest than the usual run of wastelanders, but he has to ask.

“Yes.” Her voice is a sigh, faint but definitely there.

“You’re dead.” It’s not a question. She nods, but she’s looking at Furiosa, cuddled against him in exhausted sleep. The bruises from the Buzzard fight have faded, almost invisible in this light. He’s sure that she spots them, her strange gaze missing nothing. “What do you want?” 

Valkyrie is still watching Furiosa. He has an impulse to hold her tighter, to guard her from supernatural interference, even at the cost of waking her. Maybe he should do that anyway. It’s not as if Valkyrie has come here to speak to him, or as if he would miss any chance to see Jessie or Sprog. Yet the shadow seems hesitant, reluctant to disturb her.

“You take care of her,” Valkyrie says, wistful, her face sad. She steps closer, until she’s right by the bed.

“Try to.” She nods. 

“There was a fight?”

“Buzzards, nine days ago. Then flu.” He wonders why he’s saying all this, giving precious information to an entity he has no reason to trust. He doesn’t think she’s compelling him, the way revenants could draw out secrets in old stories. Would he be able to tell?

Furiosa sighs and shifts in her sleep. The blanket slips down, leaving her shoulder bare in the cool of the room. Without thinking, he reaches out to pull it back up, just as Valkyrie does the same. Her hand passes through his, merges with his, as he tucks the blanket in.

The shock through his body is like the burning, internal chill of a fever. It lifts the hair on his arms, on his head. His heart is pounding. Valkyrie snatches her hand back, staring. Beside him, Furiosa stirs.

The physical shock is bad. Her longing is worse, alien and so familiar. He thinks he would always recognise it as longing for Furiosa – even if he didn’t know Valkyrie, even if he couldn’t tell who she was reaching for, there’s a shape and a colour to it that he knows. Yearning for Furiosa isn’t new to him. Even more, it makes him think of Jessie, of longing for the dead, a desolate want that can’t be answered.

He rarely sees Jessie’s ghost. She has never been among his bloody accusers. He can count the times he’s felt her, the comfort and the hurt of her presence when she’s not really there. It hadn’t occurred to him that the longing could come from the other side. When he stares at Valkyrie, he sees the same recognition in her face. He doesn’t think she still breathes, but her chest is heaving. 

Furiosa is mumbling, agitated by his body’s panic signals. He bends over her, trying to make soothing noises, to calm himself for her. She curls into him, clinging to him, not quite awake. When he looks back up, Valkyrie is gone.

He’s heavy-eyed and jumpy in the morning, though Furiosa is clearly mending, stronger and brighter than she has been for days. She’s also showing signs of getting out of bed. 

“Still healing,” he points out. She pulls a face, but snuggles back against him. It’s so tempting to just let his eyes close, to catch up on some of his missed sleep. Their bed is soft and warm and safe. He startles at the ordinary sound of an engine outside, his eyes opening to fix on a shadow in the corner.

“What is it? Are you –” her voice trails off. She knows he sometimes sees his ghosts. They both know that if he can’t talk about something, that means it’s getting worse. Max has no idea how to explain this, but he doesn’t want her to think he’s hallucinating again, can’t let her think he’s vanishing. And it’s not his story to keep.

“Saw –” He stops, then starts again. “Usually. When I see – this wasn’t like that.”

“What did you see?” She’s quiet and very serious, trying not to upset him.

“Valkyrie.” He can feel her stiffen beside him. “I’m sorry. It was her ghost. She – it – spoke.”

There’s a pause. Furiosa takes a long breath, carefully steady.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Her voice is tight.

“Scared,” Max says. “Of her, of waking you. Think she was trying not to wake you. She was quiet.”

“What did she say?”

“Didn’t really talk much,” he admits. “She came to see you. She watched you. How you were sleeping. Whether you were comfortable.”

Furiosa nods, but he can see her folding in on herself.

“I need to think about this.”

“Maybe sleep on it?” he offers. When she agrees, he lies back down beside her, but doesn’t try to touch her until she prods him to open his arms. 

“Wake me,” she says. “Next time.” Max nods. They can’t know if there will be a next time, if he’ll ever have another chance.

He wakes again that night, but sees nothing. It’s a clouded night, with no moon.

The next day, Furiosa is well enough to get up. Thankfully, there are plenty of small, soothing jobs on hand, things even Mel agrees are suitable for convalescence. She’s subdued, though he doesn’t think that’s the result of illness.

“Do you think she’ll come back?” she asks, as they’re getting undressed for the night. He knows she’s been thinking about it. He’s known that all day.

“Can’t tell. Not like…” He wants to say, “my usual ghosts”, but his voice fails him. Furiosa puts her arms around him. “Not like the others. S’different. She’s different.” They stand like that for a moment, held tight. “I did think, it must be around two oldyears ago. Maybe that’s why?” He hadn’t seen Valkyrie before, but he thinks, counting it up, he would have been away from the Citadel a year ago. One of the times he’d ran. 

He can tell at once, when he wakes. He’s reaching to shake Furiosa almost before his eyes are open, knowing from the air in the room that the ghost is back.

“What?”

“She’s here.”

“Where?” She’s looking around wildly. Valkyrie is standing right there, watching her with painful attention, but Furiosa’s eyes slide over her, without recognition. She can’t see her.

Perhaps Valkyrie had known this would happen: he remembers her reluctance, before. But her face goes stricken when she realises, when she’s sure. She steps closer, up to the bed – right through it, though Max is the only one to notice that – and puts her hands on Furiosa’s shoulders, trying to make her focus. It makes no difference. She doesn’t even shiver at the touch. She reaches out, her arm passing through Valkyrie, as if she thinks she’s on the other side of the room.

The ghost pulls away at that, stepping back. She puts her insubstantial hand onto Furiosa’s, laying it very precisely down, as if she could make her feel it if she only did this right. 

“She’s taking your hand,” Max says, because he can’t bear not to. “Can you feel anything?” Furiosa shakes her head, starting to cry, trying to keep her outstretched hand steady. Max wants to put his arms around her, though he’s aware that would be rubbing it in. He looks at Valkyrie, who takes another of those deep not-breaths.

“Maybe – if you’d let me – ”

“She might touch you through me?” Furiosa turns to him, baffled. “Did it before,” he tries to explain. “We both reached, to pull up a blanket...” She’s already nodding, agreeing to whatever he’s offering, before she knows what’s involved.

Max takes her hand, and looks at Valkyrie. He braces himself for the overlap, the sense of invasion. Maybe it will be easier a second time, when he knows what’s coming.

It isn’t. 

Furiosa feels it at once. He can see the moment it hits her: her shiver, the hairs rising on her arms. But she knows Valkyrie is there.

“I killed you.” She says it all at once, a rush and a gulp, her face already wet with tears and snot. “I came back to the Green Place and it was dead, then I found the Many Mothers and you’d all still be alive if – if –” 

Valkyrie is leaning over Max, her hand merged with his, holding Furiosa’s tight. 

“Tell her it was my choice,” she says, fierce. “Tell her.”

“She says it was her choice,” Max repeats. Furiosa shakes her head, still weeping, her hand clutching his. He can’t help adding, looking at Valkyrie, “And, mmm. Going back wasn’t her idea. Wasn’t her fault.” Valkyrie has been watching her with a look of angry tenderness, but she turns to him at that.

“We’d have ridden into the salt if you hadn’t. We were dying. This place – it’s as green as you all said it was.” 

Max repeats the second part. He can’t bring himself to say the line about the salt. Furiosa is sobbing, shaking with tears. He puts his free arm around her, still holding her hand with Valkyrie. His body is going haywire, a mess of conflicting physical responses. The uncanny wrongness of the merge is still there, but there’s a warmth coming from it now, the sense of a need being met. All this hurts – and he knows it’s hurting the women much more – but he thinks they need to hear it, to say it.

“How are you here? How – ” Valkyrie is already shaking her head. 

“I can’t talk about that. I don’t have long, I just… wanted to see you again.” 

Max repeats it, stumbling over words he isn’t sure he should be hearing. They are both so raw, and he is the worst person for this, the least equipped to translate, he shouldn’t be part of it – 

“I can’t do it without you,” Valkyrie says, bluntly. “And you’re what, part of her life now.” Max feels a twitch of fear at that: it’s true, but he’s not used to talking about it, to having someone else here with him and Furiosa. His voice feels closed, throat tight.

What he does next is mad, a senseless risk. He’s lost any doubt that this is truly Valkyrie. The feeling he gets from her, that he knows Furiosa gets from her, has convinced him of that. If she can share a hand, can she share a voice? Is it safe? Is any of this safe? He already knows the answer to that. 

His body is screaming at him, sending him danger signals, warnings that this is beyond its human limits. His mind lurches at being this unguarded, this open, not just with Furiosa but with someone else. Someone else who wants Furiosa. If he gives her control of his body, will he ever get it back? If something had allowed him to touch Jessie again, would he have been able to let go?

“Could you talk through me?” He’s holding tight to Furiosa’s hand, but looking at Valkyrie. She stares back at him, bewildered.

“Wait,” Furiosa says. “No, that can’t be – is that – ”

“Yes. If you’ll let me.” With Furiosa’s hand in his, he nods. 

She moves forwards like a human woman, as if bones and flesh and gravity could still put limits on her, but what he feels is the way she flows up his arm like water, strangeness rippling up and through him. It’s like the hand merge, but more, and yet it’s easier – there isn’t a barrier, a step has been taken. It’s horrifying, but there’s a bizarre surge of lust to it. He doesn’t know if his body is getting its wires crossed, the way the fear and adrenaline of a fight can be a turn-on, or if this is Valkyrie’s need, simmering under his own skin. 

When his vision clears, he finds Furiosa with her nub to his cheek, looking into his eyes. Her own are wet again.

“Oh, Fool,” she says, fingers still tight around his. She’s not using his name, he realises. “You didn’t have to risk this.” He shrugs. Even that feels strange, the movement shared with another person. “Are you… is she…?”

He nods. He can feel Valkyrie’s mind, laid over his own – not her thoughts, but feelings, care and wanting and doubt. 

“You can speak,” he tells her. “Try.”

Her first attempt ends in a rough gargle, unnerving for all of them. The second time goes better.

“It’s me,” she says, looking at Furiosa through Max’s eyes. “He shouldn’t have let me do this.” Furiosa leans in and kisses her – him – them, the corner of Max’s mouth, very soft. 

“He’s like that.” 

Max can’t help returning her kiss, aware of Valkyrie responding too, lips parting. He knows that she and Furiosa had been lovers, can feel it in the shared heat of their mouths together. All at once, Furiosa pulls back.

“Is it okay, are you okay?” She’s gasping. “Both of you.”

The need that hits him is his own and Valkyrie’s at once, both of them leaning greedily in to kiss her. He has his arms around her, holding tight, lit up with fear and want. His body is still fighting what he’s making it do, what he’s letting Valkyrie make it do. The strain of it is all mixed up, a chill to his bones and an urgent need to feel alive. 

This kiss is clumsy, both of them trying to kiss Furiosa at once, using the same mouth. He has to pull back again. It’s a relief to find that he can do that alone, that he hasn’t entirely lost control of his body. He has the impression that Valkyrie is spread thin, like this: that she could direct his hand, but not all of him. Then she surprises him by speaking again, much more confidently this time.

“How do we do this?” 

“Val, is that you?” It’s Max who nods.

“I can move with him, if he chooses,” Valkyrie tells Furiosa. “Or I think I can move one part of him.” There’s a moment’s silence, and then all three of them are laughing, wild and giddy, because this is ridiculous but familiar, when everything else is taking them so far beyond normal territory. “That’s not what I meant! I don’t know if I can move that…”

“Tends to have a mind of its own,” Furiosa agrees, still giggling, setting Max and Valkyrie off again. The vulnerability is terrifying and exhilarating, everything heightened by fear. Furiosa’s eyes are teary but she’s laughing, and he wants her. The hunger is doubled because he’s not the only one feeling it. 

He’s not sure when they start kissing again, who started it or who responded, biting at lips and licking deeper, gasping for breath. His cock is stirring, but slower than usual, given how turned on he feels; no wonder, given what his body is going through. Part of him is curious about being inside her with Valkyrie inside him, but he thinks that’s going to be beyond him.

“Don’t know if I can fuck you like this,” he gets out, mouthing down Furiosa’s neck. “But we could go down…” She’s moaning, and Valkyrie is moaning too. Then Furiosa takes his face in her hand and nub, holds him steady to be sure they’ll hear her. There’s a hint of challenge in her face, the bright edge she has when she’s pushing through fear. 

“I want your mouths on me,” she says, very distinct. The noise Max makes is almost a whine.

Valkyrie is still holding her hand, and he doesn’t want to mess with that. He strokes his other hand up over Furiosa’s side, pushing up her sleeping shirt, stroking bared skin. They have to drop hands for a moment to get the shirt off. He can feel Valkyrie working with him, finding a rhythm as they work out just how to stroke and kiss and touch. There are times she nudges him into doing something, times he’s leading. Once or twice she actually takes over, sparking a thrill of fear that only makes this more urgent. 

When they get his mouth onto Furiosa’s breast they have to stop for a moment, overwhelmed. Then they’re kissing down her belly. He can feel Valkyrie wanting all of her, lingering over scars she won’t have seen before. She can’t know that that’s where Max stabbed her, just loving her and all she’s been through. What she’s still going through: her thigh is mostly healed, but she’s still bandaged, the bruises still tender on her side and leg. There’s every reason to go carefully.

He can’t tell which of them nudges her onto her back, sliding down to get his face between her legs. Losing control is an intoxicating mix of weirdness and horror and lust, clanging in his head. His response to Furiosa overrides everything else. It’s the thing he can hang on to, a thread of sanity, the place where he and Valkyrie are already closely matched. Val noses in, leading his head, while his hands are already moving to part Furiosa’s lips.

Like the kiss, it gets messy. They go in and out of sync, Val surging into one part of his body or another. There are moments when she’ll surprise him: she turns his head for him, to bite Furiosa’s inner thigh. The groan that gets sounds like recognition. 

Moving back to lap, Max finds Valkyrie giving a flick of his tongue that isn’t familiar but makes Furiosa shudder. He shifts his mouth to suck hard on her clit, until she’s moaning. He can feel Val’s amusement, that they’re getting competitive about this when there’s only one body between them, but fuck, it’s on. 

In spite of everything, he’s so hard by now, heated and wanting. Val takes his hand and moves it to his cock, clearly intrigued by his body’s responses, giving a little moan at touching herself. Himself. She’s less confident about this, less sure of what he wants. He gives a firm stroke and feels her moan out of his own lips, freeing his hand and going back to licking. Furiosa has her hand in his hair and she’s coming, with a long, wordless wail that leaves her gasping, sprawled out under them.

“Are you – is she still –” Furiosa is panting. Max nods. 

“Still here. I –” Val is trying to speak, but it’s messy again, and she has to stop. Furiosa slides down the bed and kisses them, licking at his wet mouth. She’s still doing that as she slides her hand to his cock, fingers stroking down the ridge, cupping his balls.

“I want to go down on you,” she says. He knows she’s speaking to both of them. He nods: he can feel Valkyrie’s eagerness.

Furiosa flops down on her side, at right angles to him, leaning in to mouth the head of his cock. She’s letting them see her, sprawling out with voluptuous abandon. Val is curious: she’s never done this before, never been in a position to have it done to her. She gives a pleased, cautious chirrup at Furiosa’s first licks, turning to a surprised moan when she starts to suck. 

Val isn’t the only one. He doesn’t think he can last long, not with the possessed fever of being sucked and feeling someone else’s reactions, of knowing that Furiosa is pouring herself into pleasing both of them. He can’t help staring at her, at the beautiful line of her bare back, the curve of her bum, her bobbing head. The hum that comes from his lips is his own. 

Valkyrie is sharing it, giving way to it. Then he realises she’s lifting his hand – their hand? – and is reaching for Furiosa’s cropped hair. 

That’s such a no that Max freezes, all the muscles of his arm clenching hard to prevent her moving it. He’s already reaching for that wrist with his other hand, but Valkyrie has stopped, giving way to his reaction. He can’t explain, without speaking, and it’s private, it’s Furiosa’s to tell or keep secret. She hates having her head touched while she goes down, particularly her hair. He thinks she has bad memories. She stopped in panic the one time he tried it, froze and shook. Maybe it would be different if it were just Val here, but he won’t do that to her again. 

Valkyrie is in his body more than his head. It’s easier to recognise her emotions than her thoughts. Still, he can feel her rethinking it, releasing all control of his hand. Instead, Max reaches out to stroke Furiosa’s back, the lovely curve of hip and waist. She hums around his cock, then does that flick of her tongue that he likes. He and Valkyrie both moan. 

It obviously eggs her on, her hand back on his balls, her mouth sucking and sucking, as if she’s daring herself to give them as much as possible, all at once. When he comes, it’s blinding, his whole body wound tight and let go. 

He’s exhausted, flopped and barely conscious. Some part of him is still aware that Valkyrie is tired, too, that she’s sliding out of him. Once she’s gone, it feels much closer to ordinary post-orgasmic sleepiness, his heart rate starting to slow. He’s shivery and hot in the cool of the room, wonders if he’s getting Furiosa’s flu. She has shifted up the bed, holding him close, murmuring and petting him. He likes it when she does that. She smiles in relief when he opens his eyes.

“Are you okay?” He nods, his breath recovering but words still in short supply. “You are so…” She puts her arms around him, tight, her face in his shoulder. Her hair feels very soft under his cheek. 

Beyond her, he can see Valkyrie, almost translucent in the moonlight. Surely she was more solid before, more visible? She’s watching him, concerned, not wanting to weigh in. 

“Feels different…?” Furiosa asks, still wrapped around him. “Are you still, is Val…” Max shakes his head, then nods. It’s all confusing. He’s more relaxed, now, but weary.

“Not in me. Still here.” He sits up, careful not to overlap on Val’s space, and puts his arms around Furiosa, clinging close for a moment. Then he turns her until the women are lying face to face, their noses almost touching. He lifts Furiosa’s hand, moves it so that she’s cupping Valkyrie’s hair. “She’s here.” She’s too tired to keep holding her hand in the air, so brings it down in front of her, palm upwards. Val puts hers into it.

“She’s holding your hand,” Max tells Furiosa, She nods, pressing her nub to his arm, where it’s wrapped round her ribs, over her heart. He can see her cheek curve, knows she’s smiling at Val. He kisses her neck.

Val smiles back, though she knows she can’t see that. Then she looks at Max.

“You took a risk for her, letting me in.” Max gives a little nod, his chin on Furiosa’s shoulder. “I’m glad she’s got you,” Valkyrie says, very soft and a little sad. “That you’re here.”

“Try to…” Max says. He wonders if Valkyrie has come back before, one of the times he wasn’t here. Furiosa presses back against him, snuggly and comforting. For someone who can only hear half of the conversation, she seems to be following most of it.

Val is looking at her, her face tender. She is fading, showing up less clearly: he can almost see through her. But she seems alert and unrumpled, where Max and Furiosa are still recovering.

“Are you okay? I didn’t feel any damage, but it took a lot out of you.” Max nods again. “Is it normally like that, for you? Or was that because of me?”

“Both,” he says, thinking about it. “It’s always a lot, but this was complicated. What about you?”

“I don’t feel it, now I’m outside,” she says, thoughtfully. “Big impact, shorter time? And then you get sleepy.”

“Yeah, it does that.”

Furiosa is looking at Max, and at the space beside her, and back. She still can’t quite focus on Val, looking beyond her at least some of the time.

“Are you two comparing orgasms?” she guesses. Max can only nod. 

Furiosa laughs and laughs, until she’s almost crying again. She nudges back against him, until he holds her closer, and squeezes her hand around the empty air of Valkyrie’s fingers.

“Oh Val, I’ve missed you.” Valkyrie is wavering and ghostly, her shape less clear, but she’s here for now, for this moment. 

“I’ve missed you,” she repeats.

**Author's Note:**

> The idea that Max can touch Valkyrie but Furiosa can't was influenced by [Livia_LeRynn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Livia_LeRynn/pseuds/Livia_LeRynn)'s [Crux](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11797938/chapters/26611194).
> 
> I'm at [lurkinghistoric](http://lurkinghistoric.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.


End file.
